bambi eyes
by Poisoned Scarlet
Summary: OFFICE AU. Soul bought her this stapler. He said it reminded him of her, that prick.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Soul Eater.

**bambi eyes  
by. **_Poisoned Scarlett_

_What is she doing? _

She doesn't know anymore but there's a bitter taste in the back of her throat.

How did it get to this? She can't remember no matter how much she stares at the ceiling at night.

But she can tell you it started some two years ago by the water fountain on the sixth floor of DTH headquarters. She had been refilling her water bottle, mulling over some new project her supervisor had assigned her, and then the elevator doors opened. She looked up at that moment, expecting another haggard co-worker to shuffle out with a cup of coffee in his hand. But she got something else, something better, and she would tell you that her eyes _burned_ from staring so long— the loose tie, black blazer, black slacks, hands tucked in pockets, spiky bleached hair, red eyes. Eyes that were so, so red and hair that was so, so white. She swore to God she had never seen someone so strange and so _hot,_ unfairly attractive in an otherwise boring black-and-white, nothing special, suit.

Her clothes had started feeling like too much for how hot the room had become.

He didn't notice a thing.

Good.

She looked at her bottle before he could.

Then he came up to her, opened his mouth, and made himself more perfect:

_"Hey, I'm looking for the director's office?"_

And then she opened her mouth, all deadpan and frank:

_"There is a map right beside the elevator with all the office numbers and their occupants."_

And he stared, rose his brows, the corner of his lip twitching like he couldn't decide whether to frown or smirk. He went with the latter and her throat went tight like that time her papa had snuck up on her and she rolled off the bed, the hood caught on the post, her jacket like a piano wire around her neck.

_"Yeah, but I figure it'd be easier to ask someone who already works here. Y'know, to __save__ time. So much for that. Thanks for wasting my time, tiny tits."_

Asshole. He was an asshole—another one of those suave, better-than-you, douchebags with equally suave, prettier-than-you, girlfriends. Another pretty face, ugly inside. And she very clearly let him know that, tightening the cap on her bottle to the point where it broke and didn't seal anymore, sending him a look that could corrode metal. She stormed back to her office and only later, after she cooled off, prayed to all that was holy that he did not report her to the director and, ultimately, cost her the job. She was just an awkward office worker with temper problems looking for something _other_ than paper pushing in her life; cut her some slack, she deserved a break every now and then.

After all, she was just Maka Albarn—corporate cold, black and white, with emerald eyes that could outshine suns if she tried. But she didn't. She wore plain pencil skirts, plain button ups, plain blazers, and her hair was usually kept in a strict bun on the back of her head. She wore it in pigtails for most of her junior high and high school years but when she turned eighteen and entered college, she figured a more professional approach would be appropriate.

Buns it was.

But no one knocked on her office door and reprimanded her for her poor attitude. No one came, actually, and she had even peeked outside to find the hallways as deserted as they usually were around lunch time. He, surprisingly, had not breathed a word of her earlier rudeness. But he _had _grinned viciously at her when he was introduced at the conference by Kidd, their boss, a few days later and she made a keen effort to keep herself from squirming in her seat like some flustered school girl. And flipping him the bird, too, because as much as that grin made her thighs clench, the haughtiness in it was enough to send anyone in a spitting rage.

But that was how it started—one regular day, a Wednesday actually, with him ending up two offices down hers with the goal to make her life as miserable as possible.

That was two years ago.

Now she stands around the corner of a familiar hall, holding her clipboard to her chest, gazing at the wine-red carpet that's recently been washed. She can hear them, hear the way that girl laughs cutely and he snorts at something she said. They're pretty friendly, she thinks, they've been _getting_ pretty friendly these past few days. Maka knows too well that girl likes him, has liked him since he stepped foot into the conference room two years ago and flashed his razor-sharp grin at them all.

And Maka Albarn is no competition for someone like her—all pretty and bodacious in that always-be-prettier-than-you sort of way. She glowed in a way Maka didn't, spoke in a way Maka didn't know _how_. And it didn't matter that sarcastic douche Soul Evans got along with her, Maka Albarn, the best because, hey, she's a cold bitch and it's probably why she got promoted to _head_ bitch only a year ago. That's what they call her, anyway, she's really just the assistant director and happened to do her job to a T.

But nonetheless, head bitch is a title everyone whispered amongst themselves when they thought she wasn't listening.

And _no matter_ that eighty percent of everything that came out of Soul Evans mouth is either sarcastic or sneered, he's still seen as some sort of blessing in disguise because of his good genes. Really good genes; chromosomes perfectly paired in every way sort of genes. Maka admitted this that day two years ago but it's a taste thing, too, because she knows a couple of girls who cringe at the sight of him—mainly his decidedly frightening ruby eyes and sharp teeth. Not their type, they'd shudder with fear, not with _those_ teeth and _those _eyes and _that horrible, horrible attitude_.

Maka doesn't know—maybe she has a hidden kink for that sort of thing and maybe some of the women in the office do, too. But kink or not, there's nothing special about her that can attract Soul Evans. He already expressed his type of woman—only too much, drawled with that husky voice of his, _big boobs and a tight ass and a sweet personality and nothing like you, Jesus Christ, did you not get enough love from your daddy when you were a kid or something? _

Asshole.

He's always been one.

She kind of likes it.

She thinks she has issues although she's equally scathing so this may be one of those math things. They cancel each other out. Their words are about as hurtful as throwing marshmallows at walls. It hurts less but feels better. Comfort in each other, understanding like no other. Yeah, that's probably why she feels jealous right now as she walks back to her office. What if he finds understanding in another? Then what? Does she have to start over again—hell, she hadn't even started _this_ time. He just dropped into her life and, despite being a dick, somehow _improved_ it. What'll she do _now_ if he's gone? Who'll push her buttons, who'll make her laugh, or ask her what's wrong and _mean it?_

She broke that one rule her father garbled out one night he came back drunk sometime in her freshman year of high school. One rule that's helped her in life so far. Everything had gone well until today, the day she decided she _officially_ broke it.

_"Don't get attached to someone you can lose. Your mama—she was some…some'un I could lose. I fucked up, baby girl, I dunno' how to…fix it. I can't."_

He's right: you break the rule and then you _don't _know how to fix it. How _can_ you fix it? It's been broken. No matter how much you try to repair it, it wouldn't do much, because it's already broken. It'll never be the same again. You'd have to replace the part to be safe and that takes a long time—a long time to order that part, the wait as it ships, and by the time you're ready for that part, you'd have decided to take care of it to the point of obsession because, hey, this is a new part and it's fucking expensive and paying for _another_ one is just outrageous…

She's going to ask him out.

That pretty girl, she meant, not _her_. God, the day Maka Albarn asked a man out was the day her boss decided that the OCD was really all in his head and he could control it. And she'd tell you, that'll be _never. _But she's sure that girl will, I mean, she's built all of this talk over the past few days and for what? Just because? No. Maka may be a little slow when treading the waters of courtship but she's not a fool enough to not be able to see what she was trying to do. Talk to him, warm him up to her, and when the moment was right, BAM!

Pop the question.

It was really all on him. The power was in his hands, which Maka supposes is favorable. It's just how he likes it_—_with the cards falling right into his palm every time. And a part of her thinks he will say _yeah, sure _and they'll go out and thus an office romance will ensue that will have the entire floor in a chattering frenzy that'll push that icicle in her heart a little deeper. But another part of her snorts at the idea of Soul actually taking her seriously, of saying _yeah, sure_ and going along with it. For all his douchbaggery and general idiocy, he's as sharp as a tack and always manages to startle her with his moments of brilliance.

He's not stupid.

He's on the same level as her.

That's why she hated him in the beginning. It's his ability to keep up with her but to pretend to be bored and whine, whine, _whine_ about how boring she could be and how she'd never get married with that attitude. But he read books, once and usually by force, but he read them, and he recited whole paragraphs if he wanted to be particularly snotty and he corrected her sometimes and was _actually fucking right each time. _She didn't know why he hid it, these talents of his, this intelligence of his, but she supposes it has to do with the fact that he upholds this idiotic _cool_ ideal. Studying isn't cool, he'd tell her, neither is being a know-it-all prick or cheating.

Yes. He emphasized on that_—cheating, _unfaithfulness.

He's too smart for his own good, Maka thinks darkly.

But she digresses.

Soul Evans likes to pretend and she lets him pretend because if it made him feel good, well, who was she to call him out on it? Besides, the last time she called him out on it, it resulted in an explosive argument in the parking lot that involved a lot of insults and a lot of shouting. They hadn't spoken for four days after that and they had been the _longest_ four days of her life. But he wasn't a dumb jock, he was an intelligent douche, and that was why _he _was the one who apologized in the middle of the fourth day and managed to piss her off a few minutes later and still be in her good graces (somehow). That's why he caught her little ticks, her little smiles, and all those times she loosened up enough to laugh at something he said. It's why he quickly figured out why she doesn't like tick tacks and why she prefers Mentos or why she only crosses her leg one way and not the other. He quickly realized the signs for when she's angry, gloomy, bored, _happy—_what she does to express either, those little ticks that give way to what she's really feeling. He knows it all and it's unnerving, just how _cataloged_ he has her.

But it's also just a little…relieving.

_"You've been happier recently."_

_"What?"_

_"You smile a lot, even if you don't realize it."_

_"How could I not realize when I'm smiling? I'm pretty sure I would, Soul, don't be stupid."_

_"Nah, I don't think you do. Like right now, you're fighting back a smile. So stop being difficult just to be difficult and admit that I'm right so we can move on with our lives." _

If only she can confess she just wants to fuck Soul Evans on a nice, flat surface until he begs for mercy twice so she can move on with _her_ life.

And that she probably fell in love with him sometime between now and a year ago.

But she would never admit that, her face still puts tomatoes to shame when she even _thinks_ about it.

So, for once, Soul is wrong and she's not being difficult just to be difficult. It really _is _difficult and Maka allows herself a few seconds of triumph at being right before she hunches over and turns her stapler around in her hands, a tiny smile grazing her lips and softening her eyes.

Soul bought her this stapler.

He said it reminded him of her, that prick.

* * *

**A/N: **This is something I wrote up in my spare time. It's a new style I decided to try out this once. Also, I am quite aware that they are slightly OOC. I tried to keep it within believable bounds, though :)

_Scarlett._


	2. Chapter 2

**Bambi Eyes  
by. **_Poisoned Scarlett_

She guesses it's a little sad—actually, it's pretty sad. Soul would probably piss himself laughing if he knew what she was thinking about if only for the reason that she was not the type of person to dwell on such idle things. It's never mattered to her before but before she hadn't known Soul. Before him, she hadn't ever entertained the thought of a man _actually_ managing to get under her skin. But no matter how much she'd rather dissect him out of her like her sadistic Biology professor dissected dead animals, she's stuck with this perception of him and there is a part of her, a tiny part, okay a large part, that wants to _keep him there_.

She likes it even if it hurts her.

It's a masochistic thing; she guesses she has a thing for that, too.

Maka hunkers down a little more.

The next thing she knows, she'll be buying handcuffs and whips.

_Shut up, Maka, _she snaps at herself. _You have work to do, get your mind out of the gutter! _She reaches for her phone and turns up the volume, wincing as her ears adjust to the _boom, boom, boom, wub wub wub_—and then that drop of the _bass_—! And for a while she listens to it, deaf to anything outside of the screeching of Skrillex and Deadmau5.

But then suddenly her music goes out. Someone's yanked her headphones from her phone, which rests on her desk. Which is now held in long fingers, squeezed tightly. "Jeez, you're gonna' go deaf if you have it on this loud! I could hear it from outside your office. What's wrong?"

Maka looks up from her work in surprise, her pen stopping midway its acrobatic jumps between her fingers. She's dismayed to find the object of her depression standing there, a scowl on his face, his eyes holding that muddled conflict of things she doesn't want to think about right now, and his white button up is not helping. She just wants to go back to her busy bass line, her danceable beats with tonal harmonies. She had been doing _so_ well, too! Well, better than usual. She had stopped at cuffs and whips this time, she considers that a triumph in itself. If he would put on his blazer, then maybe she can keep it PG a little while longer.

"What do you mean?"

"You're listening to dubstep at full-blast. You're _sad_," he deadpans.

Maka flusters, cheeks reddening and her eyes sparking like flint. Eyes wide, he thinks, wide and green. "J-just because I'm listening to dubstep doesn't mean I'm sad! I was just in the mood for it!"

"You're never just 'in the mood for things', Maka," Soul smartly says and she glares.

What does _he_ know about being 'in the mood for things' anyway? Always the haughty jerk, she thinks as he shuts the door to her office with his foot. He spins back to face her, hands in his pockets, tie loose as always. He really needs to get rid of that habit. The last time Kidd saw him with his tie like that, he nearly tossed him out the window and, mind you, they were on the sixth floor.

She kind of still wants to toss him out the window, though.

"Shut up, Soul," she mutters and ignores his triumphant grin. That reply is what he calls her 'defeat response' but she mostly ignores it whenever it happens. Whatever made him happy, she thinks, miffed. "It's three. What are you still doing here? Don't you only work for half the day today?"

"Hey, you still have this?" Soul changes the subject, reaching over for the stapler that sits on her desk. It's not as big as the one the office supplies her with and the bright neon green color is _really_ a sight for sore eyes. He bought it more as a joke than anything but he hadn't seen it since he gave it to her all those months ago. "I thought you threw it away...You kept it."

She snatches it from his hand, throwing open her drawer and dropping it inside. Her shoulders are stiff. His smile grows. "Why would I throw away a perfectly good stapler? It's my back-up. Anything can happen."

"Ah huh," he hums back, unconvinced.

Maka bristles at the knowing tone. "What are you still _doing_ here, Soul?"

"Nothing, I was gonna' leave, just Hannah caught me at the copy room and wanted to talk," he replies nonchalantly. Maka knows only too well; she'd been on her way to the printer, too. Now that she's reminded of that rather bitter encounter, Maka eyes her stack of papers by her computer screen. She still needs to get those done by the end of the day and, in her own brooding thoughts, she had forgotten to get them copied at another location that didn't include one confident Hannah and one to-be-confessed-to Soul Evans.

"Oh, Hannah? What did she want?" Maka asks, reaching over to grab the stack of papers. Might as well get them copied; the repetitious cycle of copying would ease the tightness in her chest.

"A date."

Maka shifts her eyes to him for a second then looks back at her stack of papers, troubled. She stands up and he's already at the door, holding it open for her with the tip of his foot like some cool jerk. "A..a date? Aren't office relationships forbidden? It's in the _manual_," she adds accusingly and Soul snorts.

"That's what makes them so _exciting_, Maka, that's why everyone breaks the rule," he watches her walk out with a strange muddle of emotions dancing across her face_—_no, her eyes. It's certainly a new sight, one he hasn't seen before, so he makes pointed effort to remember it for future reference. Who knows? Maybe remembering this can save his life from death-by-clipboard one day. That's what he tells himself, anyway.

"So, did you say yes?"

"No."

"…No?" Maka falters and looks over her shoulder, puzzled. "But, why?"

"She's annoying. She mixed up The Gorillaz and Portishead, too. That's blasphemy," he says, frankly. Maka rolls her eyes; she doesn't even _know _those bands. At least she shouldn't but she _does _because Soul never lets her forget them. "And she doesn't know when to shut up," he adds as an afterthought.

Maka spares a glance at him, trying hard to ignore that weight that's lifted from her chest, that tightness in her throat that's magically gone.

"See?" He speaks up and she looks at him curiously. "You don't waste words. About every girl here talks so damn much you don't know what they said half the fucking time. It's like they feel the _need_ to talk. It's so uncool," he scowls and Maka tries not to let his words get to her too much. He says that a lot, that he appreciates her more than most people, but that's probably because she's just as bad as him in her own way. They're both intolerable to everyone so, as a result, they're tolerable to_ each other_.

After all, he doesn't like girls like her—like Maka Albarn.

He likes girls like Hannah which is why she's a little... puzzled.

Downright confused, even.

"…But she's pretty," Maka offers and he pauses, looking at her questioningly. Maka pinks a bit and turns back, making her way to the copy room a little faster. "I mean, she's your type. She has big breasts and she's a very sweet girl so...why wouldn't you give her a shot? She's… maybe you can grow to like her," Maka forces out and kind of wants to take them back although it's dumb because they need to be said.

He isn't into girls like her and it's pathetic to try and put down her rivals. It wouldn't get her anywhere except his black list, maybe...

The weight is back and it's heavier than before.

"Why would I do that?"

Maka blinks at him. "Because?"

"Because what?"

_That's what papa does, _she thinks as she stares at him and he holds her gaze evenly. _That's what men do. _

"We went over this," Soul says, softly. His eyes aren't as hostile as they usually are. They're that pliable shade of red that always makes her heart thump faster. Maka wants to drop her gaze but she can't: he won't let her. "Do you remember when that secretary Blair was hired a while ago and she kept hitting on me? You threw me off when you said I was like every other guy out there—like your dad. Except I'm not like him, I already told you I wasn't and I've showed it so...quit _comparing_ me to that old geezer! It pisses me off. Taking it just cuz it's _there _isn't cool! Those types of relationships never last, it's been proven time and time again. Getting trapped in the vice of pleasure will bear no good results. Aristotle states in the Nich_—_" he stops himself suddenly and looks a little horrified he even went _off_ on such a dorky spiel. He sours instantly and growls,"Look, I'm _not_ looking for a fling, if you haven't noticed! I'm looking for a _real_ relationship! Something that lasts more than two fucking weeks, thanks."

Maka swears she got everything, even grinned knowingly when he mentioned Aristotle because she _knew_ he was a Philosophy fanboy… but that last bit _threw her off_. "Eh? Wh—you're actually _looking_ for someone?" She had _not_ known that—actually, he never gave a _hint_ of that. He always kept these things to himself, she thinks irately, does that mean he'd actually dated some of the girls in the office or, no, what if he was _already_ dating one or just someone and she just, she was just_ in the way_ and taking everything he said out of context and being an idiot by blowing up his words in her mind and—?

Maka stops before her panic can show on her face, pretending to adjust the stack of papers in her arms.

Soul raises a brow at her sudden fidgeting. "…Not actively but yeah, I was."

"Actively?"

"Like _actually_ dating. Haven't been for...awhile."

"Oh, but, wait, how will you…find her? Shouldn't you try?" Maka asks, hesitantly. "You shouldn't wait for her to come to you, y'know! If you're _really_ looking for a long-standing relationship, then you should do your part!" She briskly adds. She pushes the door open with her hip and goes to the copy machine, imputing her ID number and lifting the scanner so she can start. She only needs to copy a stack, the other will be scanned and sent in PDF format to Kidd before he decides to rampage into her office and ask her just what is taking so long.

"Well, I already found her. So I can check _that_ off my list."

Her hand has this jerky, awkward, seizure as she adjusts the paper on the scanner. She snaps her head to him, emerald eyes wide with surprise. He likes her eyes wide like that—they glow, glimmer. Bambi eyes_—_that's what they're called. They're green but not just green: they're a _verdant_ shade of green, a special shade. He likes a lot of things about her, though, not just her eyes. From her skirts to the way she grabs her clipboard and beats him with it when he's being an ass. Slight masochism but that's what makes his life that much more interesting. That is his mean between excess and deficiency: it's called Maka Albarn's Hellish Clipboard.

"Y-you're in a relationship right now?" Maka stammers, unable to help the way her heart drops to her feet. He catches that—oh, observant bastard. He catches that waver in her words, that break in her defenses.

"What's with that face, huh? Are you disappointed?" He teases. He leans in and her hip hits the edge of the copier when she backs away. "Jea-lous?" He enunciates teasingly.

"No, it's just—it caught me off-guard! I didn't know and, well, I thought I would know!" Maka snaps back, going back to her stack of paperwork with a deep-set scowl. "Since I'm your friend and all…" He watches for a few more seconds and steps closer, leaning against the table by the copier.

"I'm not in a relationship with anyone."

"...Good, because no one should be!"

"Eh?"

"You'd just make their lives miserable! I feel bad for the girl who has to date you."

"Thanks for helping me realize just how much of a lost cause I am," he deadpans.

"Hm, with that attitude you will be," she cheeks back but her movements are significantly less violent. She isn't breaking the buttons on the copier anymore and, for all she may think him a moron, he's not as much of a moron as to let these little indicators go over his head. And although he's seen them before, that Hannah girl made him realize something.

She really won't wait forever.

It's been two years and this isn't just a I-want-your-tight-ass-on-my-thighs sort of thing anymore. This is a hey-I-think-I-might-love-you-in-the-forever-way sort of thing and he knows it's true because _two years_ and he can't see himself going by in life without having her right there with that damn clipboard, trying to whack him on the head for being an idiot. He doesn't want to imagine a future without that, without her. And he'd spent so much time mulling over it, over how dull and gray his life would be if he hadn't met the perky blonde by the water fountain that day two years ago. Oh, how he has _mulled _over it! The perky blonde who, he smiles, can't handle being wrong even once.

"…They're the wrong way," he speaks up.

"No, they're not," Maka immediately rebuts, pausing her task of placing the paperwork on the scanner. She raises a sharp brow at him. "They're supposed to be right-side up, right?"

"Nope, the other way around."

"That can't be right!"

"Bet," he grins and waggles his phone at her. "Send them to my email and watch them come out upside down."

Maka straightens her back in that bristling kitten sort-of-way, accepting the challenge. "Fine! But I'm right, there's _no way_ they go the other way!" She sounds a little dubious, though, and he knows he's right because the last time he scanned them like that (which was yesterday, to be fair) Kidd chewed him out because he's been working here for _how long_ and he can't even send a proper fucking PDF?

So she scans them.

He opens his email.

He opens the PDF and revels in being right by grinning that grin he knew got on her nerves the most.

"You were saying?" Soul says smugly, holding out his phone to her. The PDF is upside down; there's no denying it.

But she still tried. God, did she _try_.

"Ugh, now way! That can't, _how_..." Maka mutters to herself, glaring at his phone. She reaches for it and he lets her take it. "Dammit!" she cusses and shoots him a dark look. "Fine, so they go the other way! Whatever, this just means I'll get the job done _right!_" She upturns her nose and flips the stack of papers and as she's carefully punching in Kidd's email so she can have the copier scan and send them, Soul watches her with a smile clinging onto his lips.

She's wearing that black skirt of hers—the one that hugs her ass in a way that's painful for about ninety percent of the males in the office, especially Soul. It highlights her long legs in ways that should be physically impossible because he's seen other girls with the exact same skirt as Maka and they look like _sticks_ compared to her. She has on the same black blazer she always wears but it's loose that evening so it isn't hugging the curves of her waist. But his eyes still trace them all the same, knowing too well they're there, just hidden beneath that button-up shirt of hers. Her buns coming undone at this time and strands of ashy blonde hair are spilling out, bouncing as she nods and sends the email with a happy smile. The only sound is the sound of the copier sucking in the pages to scan them and spitting them back out in the tray one by one.

Maka looks at him at that moment, just as his eyes admire the elegant dip of her swan neck.

"Soul?" She asks, eyes wide with curiosity. "What's wrong?"

He likes her eyes wide, and that's what does it for him.

Soul leans off the table and steps closer to her. There is a sharp shift in the atmosphere, it grows heavier, even as Soul hovers nearby with that conflict in his eyes that she understands now even if she can't quite wrap her mind around it yet. He hesitates only once before he reaches up to cup her cheek and her eyes only grow bigger, wider, until the fluorescent lights above catch in lake green and he shifts closer—hesitates for a second, breath feathering pink lips.

"Uh," he swallows but it's too late to back down now. He can feel the tip of her nose bump against his, their breaths leaden as they come to terms with what is about to happen. Because for all her hardheadedness, Maka knows what's coming, and it makes her swallow and her toes curl. "I," he exhales and flicks his eyes up to her wide eyes, "Can we just...?" and then her eyes warm, something else he's never seen but hopes to see more often, and she stands on her tip toes and lets their mouths meet. She takes control, slanting her mouth against his, letting his hand slide from her cheek to the back of her neck. Her hands runs up his chest, squeeze his shoulders, and bury in his hair so her fingers could wrap around soft silver hair. He pushes her against the copier, kisses her just as fiercely as she kisses him. Then the scanner comes to a stop and all he can hear is how loud the blood is pounding in his ears.

"_Soul_," she groans against his lips and he locks their mouths together again—encouraged, wanting to hear that breathy way she said his name. Her wide eyes become lidded and dazed and he decides that although he likes them wide, he likes them hungry better.

His hands travel down her body, reaching down to her hips to squeeze because it's the closest to her ass he'll get—the closest, that is, until her leg lifts, her skirt rising dangerously up her thigh, and his hand finally runs over tight black gabardine. It's long time coming, he groans, and it feels just as great as he imagined it would.

She whimpers when his hand reaches up her skirt to fondle her ass and she lets her eyes close and her hands reach inside of his blazer to touch his chest, to run up his shoulders and dig her nails in like she had always wanted to. She grabs his tie with one hand, yanks him down so he's more level with her, but his mouth leaves hers and trails down her neck instead. She stifles a mew, feeling her cheeks redden at the feeling of his tongue and how his fingers grab the front of her shirt and unbutton enough that he can taste her collarbone, his tongue hot as it runs up her neck.

"Soul," she sighs but this is going to slow for her and her mind is already five steps ahead of her. Her body needs to catch up, she decides. She grabs a fistful of his hair and pulls his face back up to hers, meeting his lips again until he's got her caged against the printer and her thighs clench around his waist. _The printer_. She freezes. Her eyes spring open and it's like she's been slingshot back into her body from the waters of pleasure. Maka is then very aware of how his hands grope her ass, his mouth making its way down her jaw until his tongue reaches below her ear. He pushes her up on the printer, her skirt rising a little more, and her face turns scarlet when she realizes that he's got her legs around his waist now—his arms hooking underneath her knees, holding her there, his hips grinding into hers as he groans her name and presses their lips together once more.

"Mmphwait," she muffles out. "S-Soul—the printer!" She manages before he licks his way back into her mouth. "…mmm…"

"M'fine," he mumbles and yanks her hips towards him suddenly, her own rolling against him. She hisses, hips bucking, and she's made very aware of the bulge in his pants that pushes against her slick folds harder and harder. It's enough to make her knees squeeze his waist impatiently, to rub back with equal vigor. One hand grabs his neck to stop him for a second because this has happened so fast that she's not sure she's totally processed it. She's not sure of anything except that she's horny and so is he and they're in the copy room somehow getting it on but at any moment one of their co-workers could walk in on them _getting off_ at the friction of each others crotches.

Which is something Maka can't risk because, remember, she's _technically_ his superior.

This would so get her fired: caught getting it on with the idiot who can't even send a proper PDF, that would just make her _week_.

"W-wait—we have to stop!" She stammers, staring into his dark eyes. They make her throat tight with the desire she reads in them.

But he stops, looks at her hesitantly. "You don't want…?"

"N- no, it's not that, it's just…we're in the _copy room_," Maka hisses. He realizes her issue quickly and grins, pressing their foreheads together. She reddens and he loves it, how he can make her cheeks light up that pretty shade of red.

"I always knew you were kinky," he grins and she bristles and grabs his hair, yanking his head back. He winces. "See? Kinky."

"Shut up, Soul," she growls and he manages a brief smirk at his victory and _interesting_ revelation. "Go home. I'm still on the clock for another four hours!"

"Whaaaat? You're sending me home like this?" Soul groans, shaking his head of her hand and pushing his nose against her shoulder. She does feel a little bad because she can feel him against her, hard and ready, and she's _just_ as ready. But they're in the copy room and somehow, by miracle of God, no one has walked in on them yet.

"I think you can hold off for four hours," she weakly says. _She'll_ have to, anyway. Maka smiles when he looks up, hopefully. "We're not done here," she promises and he sort of can't help the way that look she has, those wide eyes of hers darkened with want, makes his boner harder than it already is. He can't help kissing her one last time, either, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders and feeling that warmth unfurl in his chest because, yes, this isn't just a sex-thing, it's a love-thing and she's all he wants, really, all he's ever wanted is right here pressed against the copier in the most inappropriate way ever.

"H…hey," she mumbles, fidgety.

"Yeah?"

"That girl you found," Maka begins. She looks up, eyes wide. "Was it the same for you?"

He thinks about his answer for a bit, remembers the leggy blonde who was filling up her water bottle in the water fountain by the elevator. How she turned to look at him and those wide eyes of hers caught his full attention—and then the words that spilled out of those pink lips, caustic and stinging, and thinking that no matter her snotty personality, she had the best ass he has ever seen and he didn't even want to get started on her legs. Doing her on a flat, hard, surface had been an idea he entertained a lot after that. Then doing her on a flat, hard, surface and murmuring _I love you _against her throat became another idea he entertained even more.

"Yeah, it was," he answers, deciding she didn't know all of that _yet. _"Did you bring your car or hitch a ride with Liz?" He asks afterward. He pulls away reluctantly, letting her slide back down to her feet. She quickly pulls her skirt down her legs and fixes herself until she's decent, touching her bun and realizing he'd taken it out sometime between kissing her and now.

"Yes, why?"

"I left my CD in the backseat," he admits.

"Oh, so that's what that was."

"That's what it was? What, you've never seen a CD before? Is that still too advanced for your old ass—ouch! Maka!" He whines, holding his head as she smacks him again with the stack of papers for good measure. Just as he's about to complain, the door opens and Hannah walks in. She freezes at the sight of them.

Soul's face wipes back into calm and he nods at her in greeting while Maka politely greets her, sending a dark look at Soul when he rolls his eyes at her efforts to be courteous. Maka gathers up her things and smiles tightly at Hannah, who doesn't meet her eyes, and both she and Soul walk out of the copy room not looking anything different than usual.

"That was close," Maka mumbles once they're out of earshot.

"I kinda' wanted to see what would happen if she had walked in on us," Soul muses. He thinks back to their conversation, how he plainly told her he was interested in someone else. The look on her face told him she knew exactly who it was. It was a little hard not to, Soul guesses, Maka was just too busy to notice. "She would probably cry. Nothing new."

Maka gives him an unamused look. "You're an _ass_."

"I like to think of myself as a realist."

"No, you're just a jackass!"

"Well, I don't see you complaining."

"Everyday actually."

"Fine, I don't see you doing _anything _about it!" Soul smirks when she sets her lips into a line, raising her stack of papers at him. "And hitting me with stuff doesn't count! You are still here keeping me company," he says, matter-of-factly. "That's what _matters_."

Maka makes a derisive noise and looks away to hide her growing smile. "Shut up, Soul."

A step behind her, Soul grins.


End file.
